


The GSA

by allinadayswork



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adopted Keith (Voltron), Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Allura (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Coming Out, Falling In Love, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff, Gay Coran (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Lance (Voltron) Speaks Spanish, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lesbian Romelle (Voltron), Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Angst, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Shay (Voltron), Pansexual Hunk (Voltron), Piercings, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Punk Keith (Voltron), Questioning, Sexuality Crisis, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Trans Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Trans Romelle (Voltron), Underage Drinking, author constantly abuses dashes and italics, everyone is some type of gay lol, gay-straight alliance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-02-27 20:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18746761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allinadayswork/pseuds/allinadayswork
Summary: Lance McClain is the straight co-president of his school's Gay-Straight Alliance. But when a mysterious, doe-eyed new boy starts coming to the club, Lance has to reassess just what side of the alliance he's really on.





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: this fic originally came from an idea for scorbus i thought of a long time ago, which i re-discovered looking through my old notebooks and decided was still a good idea, but fit klance's dynamic a lot better.
> 
> special thanks to [geckointhegarbage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckointhegarbage) for being so kind and beta'ing for me! also, shout out to my friend jelly for giving me movie ideas, especially America's Monsters: Mothman and the Bell Witch :3
> 
> please enjoy!

“Lance, wake up! You’re going to be late!”

Lance groans and pulls the covers over his head, burying his face in his pillow in protest. He yelps when his mom comes over and yanks his blanket completely off of him in response.

Her arms are folded over her chest, eyes beady as they peer down at him judgmentally. “Get _up_ , Lance.”

Lance glances at his alarm clock sitting offensively on his bedside. Seven twenty-two. He groans again, slapping a hand over his face and running his fingers through his bedhead.

“Mom,” he whines, peering at his mother through his fingers. “I’m not taking the bus today. Hunk is picking me up.”

“I thought he didn’t have a first period,” she answers, suspiciously.

Lance sits up with a yawn. “He’s coming in early to help set up for our first club meeting.”

“Well, still,” his mom continues, although she looks considerably less peeved. “You should get up now.”

“Ugh, _fine_.”

So he gets up, and his mom leaves his room with a parting smile. Lance gropes at his bedside table for his phone, idly checking through his notifications.

 ** _Hunk-a-lunk (7:28):_** _Be there in 15! :)_

Lance shoots back a short affirmative text, finally getting out of bed to get dressed and moisturized. Looking out the window, Lance smiles to himself, undeniably excited for today.

Along with his other friend Pidge, Lance is the co-president of the Gay-Straight Alliance at his high school. Although he isn’t queer himself, most of his friends are, so he doesn’t mind the speculation that inevitably comes with leading his school’s “gay club”. He’s comfortable enough in his sexuality and masculinity to brush all those comments off, thank you very much.

Hunk is the GSA’s vice-president, because he’s a little busier than Lance and Pidge. Every year the club hosts a bake sale to raise money, and Hunk, being the master chef/baker he is, is the one in charge of that, along with his partner, Shay.

As seniors, this will be Lance’s and his friends’ last year running the club. While there are some people he has in mind, whoever shows up to their first meeting today will be who Lance inevitably has to choose a successor from. So, he’s a little nervous. But mostly? Mostly, he’s excited.

After he swiftly runs a comb through his hair, he grabs his stuff and heads downstairs to eat a quick Poptart for breakfast. He’s chewing his last bite when his phone pings, indicating another text from Hunk.

 **_Hunk-a-lunk(7:43):_ ** _Outside!_

“Hunk’s here,” Lance calls to his mother, who’s bustling around in the kitchen, barking out sharp orders to his younger siblings in rapid-fire Spanish. “Bye! See you guys later!”

“Have a nice day, Lance!” his mother calls back, his siblings echoing out _bye Lance_ -s as well. Lance grins to himself, gripping his backpack straps with both hands, and exits the house.

Pidge has already taken over the front seat of Hunk’s yellow bug, so he begrudgingly opens the back door and slides inside.

“Why you always insist on taking the front seat when you’re so freaking tiny, I’ll never know,” grumbles Lance. “You’re like three foot one.”

Pidge just snorts, looking back at him smugly while Hunk pulls into the street. “You need some coffee to go with that salt?”

“Pidge,” Hunk chastises, but Lance can see him smiling.

Lance rolls his eyes, choosing to let it go. He’s used to it -- has to do that a lot when it comes down to Pidge. She’s an actual gremlin, sometimes.

“Are we picking up Allura?” asks Lance after a moment.

Hunk shakes his head. “She’s driving with Romelle.”

Allura is their club secretary. She’s a raging bisexual, and both she and her girlfriend, Romelle, are _gorgeous_. Allura’s exactly what her name suggests -- alluring and quick-witted, so it’s no wonder that Lance had had a massive crush on her at some point. (And, being the hopeless romantic that he is, he had made a big spectacle asking her out, with flowers and chocolates and everything. She rejected him, but let him down gently, of course. Not exactly his proudest moment, but he’s over it.)

Lance nods. “And Shay?”

“Driving themself.”

“Ah, okay.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, filled with the quiet music coming from Hunk’s radio. Lance hums along under his breath.

And then they’re pulling into the school, and for the first time all school year so far, Lance isn’t dreading the day. He’s anticipating it.

Hunk pulls into his usual parking spot, and they step out. Because his first class is on the opposite end of campus, Lance waves to his friends as they head over to Coran’s classroom, who’s Allura’s eccentric uncle and their club supervisor.

Today is going to be a good day -- Lance just knows it.

****

Today has been a _shit_ day so far, but because it’s the GSA’s first meeting, it does little to dampen his good mood.

He’d been so stressed about preparing for their club meeting that he conveniently managed to forget about the quiz he had in Calculus and his vocab test in English (which he probably flunked, but oh well; what’s done is done, he supposes). He also forgot one of his folders on his desk at home, meaning he didn’t have his Spanish homework with him. By the time lunch _finally_ rolls around, he’s mentally exhausted.

Yet somehow, he’s re-energized and practically skipping as he makes his way over to Coran’s classroom. He opens the door, jittery, and Allura and Romelle are already there, setting up the slideshow they made for introductions.

Allura looks up and smiles at him brilliantly. “Lance!”

“Hey Allura,” Lance replies, sauntering over to the girls. “Romelle.”

“Hey, Lance,” greets Romelle. Her long blonde hair is pulled back into pigtails today. “Ready for our first meeting?”

“You know it! I was _born_ ready.” Lance grins easily at the two of them, setting his backpack down and waving to Coran, who’s sitting at his desk and eating. “Hey Coran.”

“Hullo, Lance,” Coran says, his orange mustache twitching as he smiles.

“Where’s Hunk?”

“Bathroom,” says Allura. Without looking away from the projector, she points a manicured finger to the table in the front right corner of the room. “He already set up his stuff during first period.”

Lance goes over to the table, covered in dozens of mouth-watering cupcakes, all decorated with frosting in the colors of flags from the LGBTQ+ spectrum -- gay, bi, pan, trans, ace, you name it. Lance unthinkingly reaches for a bi one, but Pidge emerges out of nowhere and smacks his hand away.

“Lance!” she scolds, pushing up her oversized glasses and glaring at him. “Those are for the _club_.”

“I _am_ in the club, Pidgey,” points out Lance. “I’m the president!”

“ _Co_ -president, doofus.”

“Oh, come on,” Lance pleads. “Just one?”

The door opens, and Hunk enters the room. “Don’t touch the cupcakes, Lance.”

“Besides,” adds in Pidge, smirking at Lance’s pout. “You’re straight, remember?”

Lance grumbles under his breath. “I’m being _attacked_.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. Lance can’t say anything else, though, because club members are entering the classroom. Transforming into his suave and sociable self, Lance goes over to greet them, with Pidge following in his trail reluctantly -- admittedly, she isn’t nearly as good or comfortable with social interaction as he is, but for the sake of the GSA, she suffers through it anyway.

After about five minutes of welcoming and idle chatter, Allura claps her hands and announces for everyone to take a seat. Lance and Pidge make their way to the front of the classroom, readying for the official start of the meeting.

“Hi everyone,” Lance says with a charming smile. “I’m Lance, the GSA’s co-president. It’s so good to see so many of you here today, so thank you all for joining.”

Pidge steps forward. “I’m Pidge, the other co-president of our club. We’ll start with introductions from our leaders, and then go a little more into depth about the goals of this club.”

Lance nods, piggy-backing off Pidge. “Like I said, I’m Lance. I’m straight, and my pronouns are he/him.”

“I’m ace,” Pidge says next. “Also, I’m trans, and my pronouns are she/her.”

“My name is Allura, and I’m bisexual. My pronouns are she/her, and I’m the club secretary.”

They continue on with the introductions, which is tedious but necessary to create a sense of trust in the club. (Hunk: co-vice-president and unofficial caterer, pansexual, he/him. Romelle: treasurer, lesbian, trans, she/her. Shay: other co-vice-president, pan, nonbinary, they/them. Even Coran introduces himself: club supervisor, gay, he/him.)

Then they start going through the powerpoint, Lance and Pidge taking turns speaking and talking about the rules and goals of the club. When it gets to fundraising, Hunk and Allura take over and talk about the annual bake sale and other opportunities to help raise club funds. Shay and Romelle speak last, saying a little bit about advertising and club promotion.

“So, that’s all we have for today’s meeting,” says Lance in closing. “There’s a refreshment table to my left, courtesy of Hunk. Feel free to take a cupcake or two.”

“Next meeting will be in one week, so we hope to see you all here again!” Pidge finishes, and that’s that. Lance lets out a huge sigh of relief.

 _That went well_ , he thinks, and grins at his fellow club officers.

Lance makes rounds, chatting with and getting to know the students who are new to the club. Lunch is about ten minutes from being over when he sees him.

Sitting in the back, away from everyone else and looking down at his hands, is a boy. Lance can’t see his face, which is obscured by thick, black bangs. Upon closer inspection, Lance has to catch himself from laughing aloud because, Jesus Christ, is that a _mullet_? Schooling his expression into something a little less amused and a little more respectful, Lance gathers himself and walks over to the boy confidently.

As if sensing being approached, the boy looks up. Lance has to do a double-take, involuntarily faltering in his step because -- _whoa_.

Now, don’t get him wrong. Lance is as straight as they come. But that doesn’t mean he’s _blind_ , and, well, he knows what an attractive guy looks like. He’s secure enough in who he is to be able to comfortably appreciate a nice, aesthetically-pleasing face when he sees one.

And this boy -- well, Lance has no problem admitting to his obvious attractiveness. In fact, the boy is kind of sort of _pretty_ , even. Big, dark eyes and a piercing gaze, a cute sloping nose, and pink lips that look far softer than they have any right to be. And Lance almost has a heart attack when he gets a closer look at the boy’s eyes because _holy shit_ , they’re a blue-grey color that looks almost _purple_ in this lighting.

Not wanting to come off as rude or intimidating, Lance offers the boy a kind smile. The boy stares back blankly.

Lance pulls up a chair and sits, facing the boy and maintaining his easy grin. “Hello,” he says pleasantly, holding out his hand. “I’m Lance.”

“I know,” the boy replies, deadpan. “You said that earlier. Twice.” He ignores Lance’s proffered hand, and Lance tries not to let that bother him too much, shaking off the rejection and letting his hand fall into his lap dejectedly.

“I, uh, yes I did,” agrees Lance, a little lost. “What’s your name, then?”

“Keith,” says the boy shortly.

“Nice to meet you, Keith,” Lance tries, struggling to keep his smile warm. He’s never seen him around before, but he doesn’t look like a freshman either. “Are you new here?”

“Obviously.”

Lance’s eyebrow twitches. “O-okay.” _Be polite be polite be polite, remember the golden rule, Lance._ Examining the boy’s pretty features once more, Lance can’t help but wonder if maybe Keith is trans or nonbinary. Well, better safe than sorry. “So, um, what are your pronouns, Keith?”

The boy blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” Lance struggles to elaborate, realizing that he’s never actually had to do that before, “the pronouns that go with your gender identity? He/him, she/her, they/them?”

“I’m a guy.”

“Uh, cool. He/him, then?”

Keith just shrugs, and Lance decides to take that as a vague yes.

“Um, alrighty then. What’s your sexuality?”

Keith shoots him a look that, for some reason, sends a shiver down Lance’s spine. “Does it matter?” he asks flatly.

“I-uh. Well, I suppose not?”

“Good.”

Then Keith turns away, and that’s the end of that, apparently.

Confused and, honestly, a little miffed, Lance stands reluctantly and (after one last glance at Keith, who’s still looking pointedly away from him, the _fucker_ ) turns to walk back to the front where Pidge and Hunk are standing and chatting in low murmurs.

It takes all of six seconds for Lance to lose his composure.

“Guys,” he hisses, all his repressed annoyance rearing its ugly head. His friends look up, bemused by the pissed-off tone in his voice. “I just got brushed off by a guy with a _mullet_!”

Pidge blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“Twelve o’clock,” snaps Lance, and much to his chagrin, his friends are _not_ subtle _at all_ about peering over Lance’s shoulder to get a look at Keith. “Could you guys not be so obvious please?”

“Black hair?” questions Hunk at the same time Pidge asks, “Resting bitch face?”

“Yes!” Lance confirms. “I went over to him to introduce myself, you know, welcome him to the club and all that jazz, and he just… he just totally blew me off! He was so _rude_!”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Maybe he’s just having a bad day,” she suggests.

“Yeah,” agrees Hunk. “He looks like he’s new. You should try to be nice to him, Lance!”

Lance scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “I _was_ nice to him! _He’s_ the one who should try to be _nice_.”

“Well, maybe he just needs a friend,” Hunk says, frustratingly reasonable. “You shouldn’t let your first impression of him keep you from befriending him.”

Lance opens his mouth to protest, but he’s interrupted by the bell ringing. People grab their things (and last minute cupcakes) and head out to class. Sighing, Lance goes to do the same. Hunk just pats him on the shoulder sympathetically.

“You should try to be his friend,” he says again. “I’m sure he’ll warm up to you eventually -- you grow on people easily.”

“Yeah, like some sort of sore,” Pidge interjects. “Or wart.”

Lance rolls his eyes, then looks up just in time to see the back of Keith’s dumb mullet as he exits the classroom. Vaguely, he thinks about how awkward it was to talk to him, and contemplates whether he’s willing to put up with that long enough to get Keith to warm up to him.

Keith pauses in the doorway, and Lance can see his profile as he holds the door open for the girl behind him. Hm, maybe he's a decent human being after all.

Lance smiles to himself. Perhaps he _is_ willing to put up with the awkwardness.

By the time Lance walks out of Coran’s class himself, he’s already made up his mind. He _will_ befriend this socially constipated pretty boy with the bad hair. No matter the cost.

****

The next day, Hunk isn’t coming in during his free period again, so Lance has to take the bus.

Taking the bus is such a _pain_. Lance has to get up a whole half hour earlier just to catch it, and missing out on his beauty sleep certainly takes a toll on his beautiful face (he has to use concealer to cover up the bags underneath his eyes). And he lives just a little too far to walk, so that’s not an option. He has his license, but without a car of his own it’s useless.

So, the bus it is.

This time, Lance double checks that he has _everything_ he needs for the day, to prevent another situation like the one he had in Spanish from happening again. He grabs a granola bar to eat, says goodbye to his mother and siblings, and walks to the bus station, getting there with less than five minutes to spare.

When the bus gets to his stop, Lance goes to sit in his usual seat, but freezes when he sees familiar black bangs concealing a face that is unfairly attractive. Since when did Keith take the bus?

He’s sitting on the opposite side of where Lance usually sits, and a little further back. Chances are, Lance has been so tired and oblivious in the mornings that he’s failed to notice Keith at all -- otherwise he would have recognized him at the club meeting yesterday. He’s pretty good with faces. (Not to mention the fact that Keith’s face in particular is not one he would ever let himself forget.)

Lance smirks. Not wanting to hold up the bus any longer by standing, he takes this as a golden opportunity given to him specifically from the universe, which _obviously_ wants him to succeed in befriending Keith’s antisocial ass.

“Hey, Keith,” Lance says. “Long time no see.”

Keith looks up, and okay, Lance probably should have prepared himself a little better because _wow_ this boy has some gorgeous eyes. And -- is that _eyeliner_?

Keith’s lips turn down into a frown. “We saw each other yesterday.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. Apparently Keith _is_ socially constipated.

“Scooch,” is all Lance says in response, and Keith looks a bit affronted at that. But the bus driver is shooting them both annoyed looks, and after some obvious reluctance on his part, Keith moves his bag from the empty seat and scoots over to the window seat. He looks pointedly out the window.

Nevertheless, Lance can’t help but feel victorious. He grins to himself, and turns to face Keith.

“So,” Lance says a little after the bus has started moving again. “You ride the bus often?”

Keith clenches his jaw -- Lance can tell because of the way his sharp jawline ripples. It’s fascinating, almost. “Every day.”

“Cool, cool.”

Silence again. Awkward, painful, _agonizing_ silence. Lance groans internally -- it’s like pulling teeth with this boy.

“I-uh. I’ve never seen you before though.”

“Maybe you just haven’t been paying attention.”

Lance coughs. “Yeah, maybe.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “Although, it might just have to do with the fact that I’m always dead tired in the mornings. Plus, I usually sit further up ahead, so it’s not like I stare at the back of your mullet every day.”

Keith’s frown deepens, and he brings a hand up to touch his hair lightly. “I don’t have a mullet.”

Lance grins and reaches forward to tug at Keith’s hair on the other side. “You most _definitely_ have a mullet, Mullet.”

Swatting Lance’s hand away, Keith’s eyes narrow into a glare that, if looks could kill, would certainly have Lance dead in the ground. “I do _not_ have a mullet. And don’t touch my hair!”

“Whatever you say, Mullet.”

They lapse into silence again, and even though the tension is even thicker than before, Lance is resisting the urge to smile widely at the stubborn boy beside him.

****

Lance makes it through his first few classes generally unscathed. Thanks to his earlier paranoia making him double and triple check his backpack before he left the house, he turns in all his assignments on time and fully completed. He’s even prepared for the quiz in Gov & Econ, thank the Lord.

So he’s in a good mood when he enters the cafeteria for lunch, going straight to his normal table where his friends are already sitting. Lance is just about to take his usual seat next to Hunk when he sees _him_ again. Keith. Sitting two tables down, at the edge of the bench, all by his lonesome. The universe must be on Lance’s side today.

Hunk notices Lance staring seemingly off into the distance and turns, following his line of sight. This makes Pidge turn, too, and Lance does _not_ like the smirk that graces her face when she realizes who he was staring at.

He feels a bit better, though, when Hunk’s face lights up. “Oh! There’s Keith, Lance!”

“Yes,” Pidge says slyly, an evil glint in her eye. “Keith. All by himself. With no one to talk to.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Thanks Pidge.”

Allura looks up from her conversation with Romelle, confused. “Who’s Keith?”

“Lance’s _boyfriend_ ,” Pidge singsongs, and Lance gives her a dirty look.

“I’m not gay,” he says automatically. Pidge just waggles her eyebrows at him suggestively.

“Aw, Lance,” Hunk interjects. “Don’t listen to Pidge -- you should go and sit with him!”

“Yeah, Lance, go sit with your -- _ow_ , Hunk!”

Lance is pretty sure Hunk pinched Pidge, but he doesn’t know for sure because he’s already turned around by then, taking a deep breath and trying to look as confident as possible as he makes his way over to Keith’s table.

“Keith!” Lance exclaims, his feet moving just a tad too fast (he almost -- _almost_ \-- stumbles). Keith looks up at the sound of his name, eyes even wider than usual with surprise. When he sees that it’s Lance, however, his expression shifts into something unreadable.

Refusing to be deterred, Lance grips his lunch tray and urges confidence into his voice. “Hey,” he says, a little breathless. With a tilt of his head, he gestures to the empty spot to the right of Keith. “Is this seat taken?”

“Does it look taken?”

Lance just grins, shaking off the annoyed tone in Keith’s voice. Sitting down, he winks at Keith cheekily. “Now it does!”

Keith snorts and rolls his eyes heftily, but doesn’t offer a reply.

For reasons he can’t fathom, the sound of Keith snorting makes his face go warm. His mind goes blank when he tries to think of all the clever conversation starters he rehearsed in his head earlier, so instead he just dips his head and starts eating his lunch, trying his best not to feel too awkward.

That fails miserably, though, when Keith pulls out a notebook and starts writing. Lance sat just a bit too close to him, and thanks to Lance being left-handed, him and Keith keep knocking elbows.

“Sorry!” Lance blurts, ready to move away. But Keith just sighs and moves his pen to his left hand. Lance thinks he’s going to put it away and opens his mouth to protest, so imagine his surprise when Keith _starts writing with his other hand_. Like it’s _nothing_.

“Holy shit,” Lance breathes, utterly in awe. “How do you _do_ that?”

“It’s called ambidexterity, Lance.”

“I _know_ that,” he replies, blushing. “But like… _how_ …?”

Keith shrugs. Lance doesn’t really expect him to give a real response, so he’s pleasantly surprised when he does. “It comes naturally to me, I guess. I’ve always been able to use both hands. Honestly, sometimes I forget that most people can only use one.”

Lance tries not to get too excited, but holy crow, that’s more words than Keith’s said to him since they first met.

“Do you have a preference?” asks Lance, genuinely curious.

Keith frowns, twirling the pen in his hand mindlessly. The dexterity of his movements has Lance captivated.

“Not really,” he says after a moment. “I just use whichever hand is closest to what I’m trying to do.”

“Whoa,” Lance says reverently. Keith bites his lip, and Lance watches, entranced.

“Sometimes pens don’t work so well in my left, though, so I tend to do penwork with my right hand.”

Lance smiles. “Boy do I know _that_ one. Only, I don’t have the luxury of being able to use both hands. I’m forced to suffer through it with good ol’ leftie over here.” He lifts his hand, wiggling his fingers for effect.

And, okay, honestly what he said was kind of (read: _very_ ) cringe-worthy. But Keith must find _some_ amusement in it (even if it’s just from how incredibly dumb Lance sounded) because then the impossible happens: Keith fucking _smiles_. It’s small, just the slightest upward curve of his pink lips, but it’s enough to make Lance feel like he’s soaring and dying simultaneously.

 _Fuck yeah_ , Lance thinks giddily as he grins at Keith’s amused expression. _I did that. Score one, McClain, baby_.

Not wanting to let this conversation die out so quickly, Lance continues asking Keith questions about his experience with being ambidextrous. He feels exhilarated every time Keith answers him with more than four words, and even more so whenever he manages to coax another hesitant smile from him.

Lance is opening his mouth to say some witty but relatable remark about left-handedness and scissors when he is -- _yet again_ \-- interrupted by the bell ringing overhead.

He groans internally -- Keith was _finally_ talking to him, proper sentences and all, and now the bell just _has_ to come out of nowhere and decide to be a bitch about it. _Fuck you, Universe_. _You were on a roll, too_.

Keith coughs, and Lance snaps out of his brief bout of self-pity.

“I guess we should get to class, huh?” Lance asks, a little sadly.

“You’ve always got to state the obvious, don’t you?” It could be his imagination, but Lance thinks he can make out a little bit of fondness in Keith’s tone.

Lance shrugs, shooting Keith one of his most charming smiles. “Someone has to.”

Keith rolls his eyes (he’s done that so many times already that Lance has to wonder whether it makes his eyes hurt). He stands, picking up his bag and slinging it over one shoulder, and Lance does the same.

Giving Lance one last look, Keith turns and moves to walk away. Impulsively, Lance reaches forward and grabs Keith’s wrist to prevent him from leaving so soon.

Keith’s head whips back around, quirking an eyebrow and staring at where Lance grabbed him. Nervously, Lance drops his wrist. He doesn’t feel like dying today, thank you very much.

“Um. Are you taking the bus home?” asks Lance quickly.

“Yes.”

“Wow, uh, me too!” Lance feels like smacking himself in the face, because _dumbass, you’re getting a ride with Hunk!_ Or, he _was_ , at least. Not anymore, apparently.

“That’s nice,” Keith responds, his voice monotonous. But then, Lance sees hesitation in his eyes, and he’s speaking again, sounding a bit...rushed. “I sit in the same spot I sit in the mornings.”

He says it like a suggestion, and the implication does funny things to Lance’s heart.

“Cool!” Lance squeaks out, his voice cracking. “See you then!”

And Keith -- dumb, stupid, _mulleted_ Keith -- gives Lance this oddly soft smile. It’s endearing, almost.

“See you then, Lance,” he says, and walks away (thankfully) before Lance can say something else entirely stupid.

And despite the hot flush of embarrassment in Lance’s cheeks, his mouth stretches into a smile so big it _hurts_.

Perhaps the universe is on his side after all.

****

Over the course of the next few weeks, Lance learns a _lot_ about Keith.

For one, he learns his last name is Kogane. Not directly from Keith, though -- no, another thing Lance learns about Keith is that he is _stubborn_ above anything else, which is why it takes him a long time to figure out basic, trivial things about him, like his last name or his favorite color (which Lance still doesn't know for sure but assumes it's probably black, considering that's all he seems to be wearing at any given time).

It happens at one of the GSA meetings, when they pass around a piece of paper asking for the names of everyone who will be participating in the bake sale, which is just a few months away, at this point.

Lance doesn’t think much about the list, at first, and even complains a bit when Hunk asks him to type up all the names into a word document when it gets passed back to them.

He types the names up, bored at how tedious it is to double-check the spelling on each name, and then promptly chokes when he sees that Keith has written his name down in small, neat handwriting. Lance recognizes it immediately (just the other day Keith had shown him the slight differences between his left and right handwriting -- although he isn’t completely sure, Lance thinks he used his right hand this time), and his fingers falter over the keyboard when he reads _Kogane_.

Keith Kogane. It's a nice name. And if Lance whispers it to himself later on just to hear it aloud, well then, what about it, really?

Another thing Lance learns about Keith -- he’s completely _badass_.

It’s something Lance has always suspected, but it’s practically confirmed the first day Keith wears his piercings to school.

Yes, _piercings_. Plural. As in, several in each ear. The sight has Lance gaping at Keith, who just laughs at the dumbstruck look on his face. And then _that_ sight almost gives Lance an actual heart attack, because even though it isn’t the first time he’s seen Keith laugh (and _God_ , do pretty boys always have pretty laughs or is Keith just that lucky?), it’s the first time he sees a glint of silver flash from inside his mouth.

“Do you have a _tongue_ piercing?” Lance asks, his voice a little higher pitched than normal. Keith just smirks at him, then sticks out his tongue, and _yep_. That’s definitely a tongue piercing. Because of _course_ Keith would have a fucking _tongue piercing_.

“Holy shit, Keith. Why haven’t you worn your piercings before?”

Keith shrugs. “I used to wear them a lot in my sophomore year, but then I got lazy and stopped trying so hard in the mornings. But this school starts later than my old school, and I was bored waiting for the bus so I just put them in real quick.”

Sophomore year. Keith has had his piercings since _sophomore_ year.

"Sophomore year?" Lance echoes.

Keith nods. "Yeah. I did most of them myself, actually."

"You did _what_?!"

"Piercings are expensive," he shrugs. "Google is not. Plus, my foster brother helped."

“That’s so cool,” Lance says, sounding kind of breathy. “How many do you have, exactly?”

“Hm…” Keith looks thoughtful, his lips moving slightly as he counts to himself. It’s frustratingly cute. “Eleven? Twelve, if you count my industrial as two.”

Lance frowns dumbly. “Industrial?”

“Oh, my bar.” He points to his right ear, where a black bar pierces the top part of his ear from end to end. Then he points to the rest of his piercings, naming them as he goes. “I have an industrial, my thirds on both ears, and two helixes on my left.”

“But with your tongue piercing isn’t that only ten? If you count the bar as one?”

Keith blushes, then lifts up the hem of his shirt. “Belly button.”

“Oh,” Lance wheezes. “ _Oh_.”

So, yeah. Keith is a badass. A badass with twelve holes he voluntarily put in his body ( _himself_!) at the ripe age of _fifteen_ , whereas Lance is currently seventeen and still cries a little whenever he has to get a flu shot.

But he digresses; Keith might be a badass, but Lance learns something else about him that he suspects not many other people do: Keith is a total _nerd_. To clarify, he fervently believes in aliens and reads conspiracy theories in his free time. Who would’ve thought?

This is something Lance figures out the first time he manages to convince Keith to sit with him and his friends at lunch.

“C’mon, Keith,” Lance had begged and begged. “My friends are _dying_ to meet you. Officially. Outside of the GSA. Please?”

And eventually, Lance had annoyed him so much that Keith had no choice but to say yes. (Or rather: “ _Fuck, fine, Lance, just shut the fuck up about it, would you?_ ”)

At first, Lance is convinced that he is going to have to re-coax Keith out of his shell (something Lance has already been slowly working on for the past few _weeks_ ), but to his shock, Keith assimilates quite easily into his friends’ dynamic.

“So, Keith,” Pidge drawls. She pushes up her glasses, brown eyes glinting. “Is that a Mothman charm I see on your backpack?”

Keith grins, and Lance almost keels over when he eagerly begins ranting about Mothman and other related cryptids. Hunk and Pidge listen attentively, and Allura and Romelle share a Look that, for some reason, makes Lance slightly nervous. He shakes it off, a smile playing at his lips as he watches the adorable way Keith gesticulates as he geeks out excitedly with Pidge.

The rest, as they say, is history.

****

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Keith looks up just as Lance sits down. They’re on the bus, and Lance is incredibly happy that Keith has started leaving the seat next to him empty, saving it for when Lance gets on.

Keith shrugs. “Just homework, probably,” he says. “Why?”

Lance bumps their shoulders together. “Hunk is doing taste-testing at his house tomorrow to prepare for the upcoming bake sale. Usually we all go to help, and then watch a movie and spend the night there. His moms make the _best_ popcorn, I don’t know how they do it.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It is.” Lance grins at him, “which is why you should come.”

Keith looks surprised. “I -- they’d want me there?”

“Uh, of course they would, dude!  _I_ want you there. I mean, not only are you a part of the GSA, but you’re also our friend.”

“Oh,” says Keith, biting his lip as if to hold back a smile. “I’ve never had a lot of friends before.”

Something about Keith’s words puts a funny feeling in Lance’s stomach. Lance does his best to ignore it.

“Well,” he says, slinging an arm around Keith and pulling him close. “Get used to it, Mullet, because you’re stuck with us now.”

Keith blushes, then elbows Lance in the ribs. “It’s not a mullet, Lance.”

“It’s the _epitome_ of a mullet, Keith.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

Unthinkingly, Lance reaches forward and tucks a section of Keith’s hair behind his ear. _Soft_ , thinks Lance idly.

Keith’s face erupts into the _cutest_ shade of red. “ _Lance_.”

“What?” asks Lance, innocently. Keith rolls his eyes at him, cheeks still flushed, but smiles nonetheless.

“Fine,” he says concedingly. “I’ll come to Hunk’s tomorrow. But I need a ride.”

Lance lights up at that, and gives Keith a playful wink. “I gotcha buddy. Be ready by six.”

****

After asking, then reasoning, and then eventually, begging his mom, she finally relents and allows him to use the car to pick up Keith and go to Hunk’s.

For reasons unknown to him, Lance struggles a bit when trying to find something to wear. Eventually, he settles on a light blue polo that brings out his eyes and his favorite pair of jeans. He takes a quick shower and gets dressed, then opens his phone and grins at the newest contact that’s been inputted.

 **_mullet :3_**. Lance opens up a new chat and bites his lip as he drafts his first message, typing and deleting and retyping several times before finally settling on:

 **_Lance (5:49):_ ** _omw mullet!! let’s hope you didn’t give me a fake address or smth lol_

He heads out, saying a quick bye to his family, and a jolt of excitement rushes through him when his phone vibrates with Keith’s reply.

 **_mullet :3 (5:51):_ ** _Why would I give you a fake address?_

Lance grins, buckling his seatbelt and typing back.

 **_Lance (5:52):_ ** _can’t hear you i’m driving!!! :)_

Closing out of his Messenger app, Lance puts the address Keith gave him into Maps and lets his phone do its GPS magic.

Keith doesn’t respond again, but that doesn’t matter because Lance is too busy driving and marveling at the fact that he and Keith live _less than five minutes_ _away from each other_. And now, Lance knows his address. He knows where Keith _lives_ , and that knowledge sets off a fluttery, fuzzy feeling in his heart, something happy and warm.

The robotic voice coming from his phone informs him that his destination is on the right, and Lance is about to text Keith that he’s here when the front door of the house swings open.

And, wow. _Wow_. Lance has yet to see Keith in any color other than black, so the sight of him wearing a tight red t-shirt makes Lance feel a bit lightheaded.

Keith opens the passenger door and smiles. “Nice ride.”

Lance blushes; he had taken his mom’s minivan (Veronica took their Altima, okay?). “Yep,” he says, trying not to sound strangled. “Sexy, right?”

And Keith _laughs_ , so Lance can’t even find it in himself to feel embarrassed.

“Right,” Keith smirks. “Very sexy.”

The word ‘sexy’ coming out of Keith’s mouth does things to Lance that he isn’t quite sure how to label. So, he laughs it off, ignoring the way his cheeks flush.

By the time they get to Hunk’s house, Pidge, Allura, and Romelle are already there. Shay isn’t coming, because it’s their brother Rax’s birthday, but they sent their regards at lunch on Friday.

“Lance, Keith! You made it!” Hunk is grinning from ear to ear.

“Of course we made it, buddy,” replies Lance, wrapping his arm around Keith’s shoulders. To his (pleasant) surprise, Keith doesn’t elbow him or shrug him off this time. “We wouldn’t miss your baking for the world.”

Hunk rolls his eyes, and motions for the two of them to come in.

They walk inside, Lance’s arm still resting on Keith. A part of Lance wants to pull him closer, maybe bury his nose in his hair, and that thought nearly stops him in his tracks. Instead, he quickly pulls away, his earlier blush rising back up to his cheeks.

_What is wrong with me?_

Resisting the urge to look at Keith and shaking his odd thoughts off and out of his mind, Lance forces a smile back onto his face as they reach the kitchen. Allura and Romelle are sitting at the breakfast bar facing each other, legs tangled between them. Pidge leans against the counter, already licking what looks like chocolate batter off a large wooden spoon.

“Pidge!” Hunk chastises when he sees her. “Put that down -- you can’t eat that. It has raw eggs in it!”

Pidge gives him a dry look as she takes another slow, purposeful lick out of spite. “Try me, bitch.”

“Don’t call Hunk a bitch,” Romelle pipes up, and Allura nods in agreement. “He’s a ray of sunshine.”

Hunk beams at her. “Thank you, Romelle.”

Pidge just rolls her eyes, then turns her attention onto Lance and Keith. “You guys are late,” she points out bluntly.

“Sorry,” Keith says casually. “Lance picked me up in a _minivan_.”

“Hey!” sputters Lance, his face hot. “You-- you called it a _nice_ _ride_!”

And Keith just laughs at him in a way that is not at all mean-spirited, but it effectively distracts Lance when the action reveals a glimpse of his silver tongue ring.

Lance swallows. “You’re a mean one, Mr. Mullet.”

“It’s not a mullet!”

Their playful banter continues even as they start helping out Hunk in the kitchen, throwing insults back and forth, tongue-in-cheek, while the others occasionally snort or roll their eyes at their antics.

At one point, Lance pokes Keith’s nose with a dollop of the frosting they’re supposed to be taste-testing, laughing at the way he gets all flustered and cross-eyed. Feeling the need to get Lance back for that, Keith retaliates by smearing left-over batter across his cheek (which Lance promptly freaks out about, because he does not go through his thirty minute skin care routine every night to have it ruined by _Keith_ and _cake batter_ ).

The poking and smearing turns itself into a full-fledged war, and Lance’s friends get dragged in after getting caught in the crossfire, with Keith, Pidge, and Allura against Lance, Hunk, and Romelle.

In the end, there isn’t a clear winner because everyone is covered from head to toe in flour and icing and batter, and Hunk almost has an aneurysm when he sees the time and how disastrous the kitchen still is ( _oh nO my moms are gonna kill me we gotta clean this up guys_ ), so everyone shares the labor of cleaning the aftermath of their confectionary battle.

But Lance spares a glance over at Keith, who’s grinning at something Allura must have said, a bright pink streak of frosting across his jaw and sprinkles hanging precariously from his dark, yellow-batter-splattered hair. He looks up at Lance, then, his grin turning mischievous and almost cat-like. It takes Lance’s breath away, and even though he, technically, lost their battle, something makes him feel like he’s won the war.

They clean up just in time for Hunk’s parents to get home. They’re all collapsed on the couch, a little breathless from their frantic clean-up, trying to look as innocent as possible. If Hunk’s moms suspect anything, they certainly don’t show it, because they come in carrying pizza boxes and immediately striking up conversation with the six of them.

“How did the tasting go?” asks Sharyl, beaming proudly at the tray of mini-cakes neatly decorated and lined out on the breakfast bar.

Hunk smiles at his mother, pushing one of the cakes (strawberry, and colorfully decorated in the trans flag colors) over to her and his other mom, Talia. “Try it for yourself!”

“Mm,” says Talia around a mouthful of cake. “Is that my lemon-coconut buttercream?”

Hunk lights up at her recognition, and then looks at Lance. “It’s Lance’s favorite, so I knew I just _had_ to make it.”

Lance blushes a little. “I didn’t know it was your recipe,” he tells Talia, who just laughs and pushes the rest of the cake to her wife to finish.

“It’s my mother’s recipe, actually,” she corrects. Her eyes move to the right of Lance, and her face warms at Keith’s shy expression. Her gaze makes Keith lean into Lance unconsciously, a motion that Lance is very conscious of. “And who is this?”

“Oh, this is Keith,” Lance introduces, putting a supportive hand on Keith’s shoulder as she appraises him, an approving twinkle in her eyes. Sharyl peeps over her shoulder, fork in her mouth, and waves.

Talia sticks out her hand, and Keith’s eyes widen. Then he shakes his head, as if collecting himself, and fumbles a bit to shake her hand firmly. It’s odd, watching Keith’s awkwardness from an outside perspective. It’s also somewhat enlightening for Lance, who’s already realized that a lot of Keith’s rudeness from that infamous first meeting was just him being genuinely socially stunted.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Garrett. And, er, Mrs. Garrett.”

Sharyl laughs at him, and the sound is like bells pealing. She’s too far to shake Keith’s hand properly, and too invested in her cake to move closer, so she stays where she is with her lips pulled into an amused smile. “I’m Sharyl.”

“And I’m Talia,” adds Talia, taking a step closer to Keith and patting his cheek gently with her tanned hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, Keith.”

Keith blushes, and yet again, the word ‘ _cute_ ’ appears suddenly -- unbidden -- in Lance’s mind.

 _This is going to be a long night_ , he thinks, a little bit miserable and a lot bit confused.

****

They end up sprawled out across the Garretts’ living room in their pajamas, eating pizza and arguing over what movie they should watch.

“Put on a horror movie, you cowards,” yells Romelle from the couch, one hand cupped around her mouth like a mega-phone. The other hand is buried in Allura’s hair, whose head is resting in her girlfriend’s lap. She glares up at Romelle, but refuses to move.

“I want to watch a watch a rom-com!” she protests.

“I agree with Allura,” Lance pipes up from where he’s seated on the floor, cross-legged. He’s been in a _Mean Girls_ type of mood lately.

Keith, who’s sitting to the right of Lance, gives him an incredulous look. “Or,” he says, bumping his shoulder with Lance’s and making Lance burn with the contact, “we could watch an action movie. Like _Kill Bill_.”

Lance snorts at that. “Keith, stop trying to thrust your dumb sword kink on the rest of us.”

“First of all,” says Pidge, walking in from the kitchen holding two bags of chips. “Please don’t talk about Keith thrusting his _anything,_  ever. We don’t need you vicariously living out your fantasies through us.”

Lance goes bright red.

“Second of all,” Pidge continues, ignoring the way her words made Lance choke on his saliva, “you’ve got it all wrong Keith. We should watch _Mothman and the Bell Witch_.”

Keith perks up, his eyes going all bright the way they always do when he gets excited about something. “ _America’s Monsters_?”

“Yup,” Pidge affirms with a wide grin, tossing him one of the chip bags.

Lance intercepts the bag quickly, before it can fall into Keith’s lap. Keith looks at Lance in surprise, his shocked expression instantly morphing into a glare when Lance laughs at him. Lance just smirks, maintaining eye contact as he opens up the bag, deliberately slow, and pops a chip in his mouth. He crunches loudly, satisfied at the way Keith’s eyes track the movement of his throat when he swallows. Then he gives Keith an impish grin, licking his lips suggestively.

Lance watches, pleased, as pink dusts Keith’s cheeks. No longer able to resist, he bursts out laughing at the dumbstruck look Keith has on, and he can’t bring himself to feel guilty even when Keith scowls and shoves him, hard.

“Ugh,” Pidge groans, reminding Lance of her presence. “You guys are gross.”

Allura giggles from Romelle’s lap. “I think they’re cute.” She looks up at her girlfriend pointedly. “That could be us. Which is exactly why we should watch a rom-com.”

“Why even watch a rom-com when we could just watch Lance flirt with Keith?” Romelle shoots back.

Lance frowns. “Guys--”

“Have you guys picked out a movie yet?” interrupts Hunk as he walks in with a large bowl of popcorn, much to Lance’s relief.

Really? Like, _really_? He isn’t flirting with Keith! He’d have to like guys to flirt with Keith. And anyway, even if he is flirting with Keith (which he _isn’t_!), Keith _is_ _definitely_ out of his league. So really, all that’s ever happening between Lance and Keith? Nothing but friendly, platonic banter. _He’s not flirting with Keith!_

“ _Pet Semetary_ !” Romelle exclaims, pulling Lance’s attention away from his (irrelevant and unnecessary) thoughts about Keith. “The _original_ one!”

Allura finally sits up, crossing her arms as she narrows her eyes at Romelle. “Or we could watch a _rom-com_.”

“ _Or_ we could watch the legendary tales of _Mothman and the Bell Witch_ ,” Pidge adds to the discourse.

“Seconded,” says Keith.

“See? Keith agrees with me,” Pidge smirks. “So _Mothman_ it is.”

Lance huffs, giving Pidge an annoyed look. “Well, I agree with Allura! We should totally watch a rom-com.”

“Well,” Hunk says, sitting down next to Allura and putting the popcorn on the coffee table. “I, personally, think an action movie would be cool.”

Keith’s head whips around so fast it gives _Lance_ whiplash. “Like _Kill Bill_?” he asks, sounding so hopeful that it almost makes Lance want to agree with his dumb movie choice.

“Oooh, yeah, let’s watch _Kill Bill_!”

Pidge lets out a gasp so dramatic it’s Lance-worthy (if Lance does say so himself). She points an accusing finger at Keith. “You-- you _traitor_!”

Keith shrugs. Then, surprisingly reasonable, he suggests, “How about rock-paper-scissors?”

And so they have a short rock-paper-scissors tournament, with Lance representing him and Allura in favor of a rom-com. Romelle is the first to go, losing against Keith when he chooses paper and she chooses rock. She slumps back onto the couch, defeated and deflated, eating handfuls of popcorn sadly as she watches the tournament continue without her. Allura gives her a comforting pat, then turns to Lance and yells at him to “ _crush out Mothman, Lonce_!”

He’s facing off against Pidge next, trying not to seem too nervous as she eyes him determinedly. _This is a game of luck_ , he reminds himself. _Her algorithms have nothing on me here_.

And they don’t -- he beats her almost instantaneously, throwing out scissors just as she chooses paper. He grins victoriously, almost maliciously, cutting her paper to _shreds_. Pidge frowns down at their hands, looking a little lost as to how she managed to lose to _Lance_. Regardless, Lance is smug and turns to Keith, eyes glinting with challenge.

“Scared, Mullet?” he taunts, eyebrows waggling.

Keith lifts his chin, holding out his ready-made fist and returning Lance’s competitive gaze. “You wish.”

 _One, two, three!_ They both throw out rock.

Lance narrows his eyes. _One, two, three!_

Two papers.

_One, two, three!_

Another tie -- rock, again.

Oh boy, this is it. Lance clenches his fist and gives Keith his fiercest look, which Keith easily returns. He’s never felt a stronger need to beat someone, if not for the rom-com then at least for his pride’s sake. He has no doubt in his mind that, if this were a movie, _The Final Countdown_ would be blaring in the background.

_One!_

(Should he choose rock again? Maybe Keith is trying to psych him out.)

_Two!_

(Maybe Keith _wants_ him to think he’s trying to psych him out. Maybe he wants Lance to overthink this. Does that mean he’s succeeding?)

At this point, both Hunk and Allura are practically screeching at them, goading them on like it’s a WWE match instead of rock-paper-scissors.

_Three!_

(Fuck it. Go with your gut, McClain.)

At the last second, Lance stops trying to read too deeply into it and throws out rock once more. It’s almost like he’s watching in slow-motion, his eyes widening in amazement when Keith _actually throws out scissors_.

“Shit!” Keith exclaims, looking between him and Lance, dumbfounded in his loss. The fact that he actually _won_ hits Lance not a moment later, and he pumps his ready-made fist in the air with a loud _whoop_ of success.

“HA!” Lance exclaims, jumping excitedly. Allura hops to her feet and gives a cute little dance, sticking her tongue out at Romelle, who’s scowling at their smugness.

“Yes!” cries Allura. “ _Love Actually_ it is!”

Lance immediately stops short, his neck snapping to stare at Allura.

“Whoa whoa whoa _whoa_ ,” he interjects quickly. “Seriously, _Love Actually_? Um, I don’t think so. We’re watching _Mean Girls_.”

Allura’s eyes go wide. “ _What_? _Mean Girls_ isn’t a rom-com!”

“It is _totally_ a rom-com! Besides, _Love Actually_ is a _Christmas_ movie,” Lance points out. “It’s barely _October_.”

“I hate to agree with Lance,” says Pidge, “but I agree with Lance.”

“Thank you, Pidge!”

Allura rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to argue, but Keith (the _nerve_ of this boy, Lance _swears_ ) quickly speaks up too.

“I agree with Allura.”

“Of course you do, Mullet,” Lance scoffs. “You _lost_.”

“No, I think they have a point,” muses Hunk. “I mean, _Love Actually_ is kind of the epitome of rom-coms, right? It’s like, nine rom-coms all at once. Plus I don’t think _Mean Girls_ is really a romantic comedy anyway.”

“ _Blasphemy_ ,” Lance gasps, a hand clutching his heart.

Keith flicks his ear playfully. “You’re so _dramatic_.”

“It’s _Mean Girls_ ,” Lance stresses. “It’s the most rom-com-y of all the rom-coms!”

“Obviously Hunk thinks otherwise,” huffs Allura. “And it’s his house, so just put on _Love Actually_ and call it a day.”

“I’m the one who won rock-paper-scissors!” Lance exclaims, throwing his hands up. “So we’re watching _Mean Girls_!”

Allura’s eyes narrow into slits menacingly. “ _Love Actually_.”

“ _Mean Girls_!”

“ _LOVE ACTUALLY_!”

“ _MEAN G--_ ”

Lance is abruptly cut off by the sound of the television turning on, the beginning notes of a very _familiar_ song causing him to (in a very Pavlovian-esque fashion) shut his mouth and snap his head in the TV’s direction.

Everyone else goes quiet too, including Allura. They all look up at Sharyl in awe, who’s standing in front of the TV with a smug grin, holding up the (now empty) DVD case of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_.

All at the same time, everyone says some variation of “ _oh my gosh, yes!_ ” and, just like that, their movie dilemma? Solved.

Lance reaches for a handful of popcorn and sits back against the couch next to Keith, settling in and grinning.

_“I should have known that you would be here, Professor McGonagall…"_

****

They’re about halfway through the movie when it happens.

Lance, having mild ADHD, isn’t usually one to sit still for long periods of time. He also tends not to pay close attention to his body position, not especially caring whether he’s in another person’s personal space -- he likes physical contact, anyway. It’s his main form of affection with any given person, whether it be a family member or friend.

But when he shifts as he tries to get more comfortable, and his hand falls from his lap and accidentally lands on top of _Keith’s_ , Lance is more acutely aware of his body position than he has ever been in his entire life.

He feels Keith tense up under the touch, and entirely plans on yanking his hand away and fumbling through a red-faced apology, but the shock of Keith’s hand beneath his makes him hesitate just long enough for something totally _weird_ to happen.

Instead of cringing away from the touch (as Lance would expect from Keith), Keith relaxes after a moment and flips his hand upside-down, keeping it underneath Lance’s. Another beat, and -- Lance isn’t entirely sure who initiates it -- their fingers are curling around each other’s and _oh God_ , they’re _holding hands_.

Butterflies erupt in Lance’s stomach, his face burning at the sensation of Keith’s hand in his. He avoids turning his head to look at Keith, because even though a small part of him wants to pull away, a significantly larger, more scary part of him very much enjoys holding hands with him and would rather die than have Keith let go.

Lance swallows, wiping his other hand discreetly on his pant leg.

 _Don’t overthink it_ , he tells himself. _You cuddle with your friends all the time. Holding hands with Keith is no different_.

Except -- it _feels_ different. Holding hands is inherently considered romantic, right? Although, it’s not like they have their fingers twined together like lovers would. Instead, they’re clasped together, the way a parent would hold a child’s hand. So maybe it isn’t so romantic after all.

When Keith’s hand squeezes, Lance feels it around his heart.

They stay like that until the credits roll.

****

Just when Lance feels like his confused brain and overworked heart can take no more, the movie ends and Keith pulls away. Lance already misses the warmth, and he has to shake his head to push those thoughts out of his mind for now (or ever, preferably).

“Alright guys!” Hunk yawns from his spot on the couch. “I’m beat. You wanna get to bed?”

Pidge nods, rubbing her eyes from beneath her glasses. “Fuck yeah I do.”

“Romelle’s already asleep,” whispers Allura, brushing back her sleeping girlfriend’s blonde bangs from her forehead. “I’ll stay on the couch with her.”

Hunk nods, standing and stretching. “Alright. Pidge can have her usual room. Lance, you take the other guest room with Keith.”

“Oh,” says Lance nervously. “Okay.”

Keith gives him a strange look, standing too. He bites his lip and holds out a hand for Lance (the same hand he’s been holding for the past _hour and a half_ , Lance's mind points out unhelpfully).

Lance stares at the hand for longer than necessary. Long enough for Keith to look uncomfortable and start to retract it.

Vaguely, Lance is reminded of the day he first met Keith. Snapping out of his stupor, he quickly takes Keith’s hand, giving him a shaky smile which Keith easily returns as he pulls Lance up onto his feet.

Somehow, Keith’s smile puts Lance at ease, and he starts feeling like his normal self again. Smirking at Keith, he grips his hand firmly and tugs him toward hallway to their room for the night.

“Let’s go, Mullet,” Lance says with a lopsided grin. Keith just shakes his head at him, but he hasn't stopped smiling either. “Good night everyone!”

“Good night,” Keith echoes Lance, and the rest of them chorus it back.

 _I can do this_ , thinks Lance determinedly.

And then they get to the room, and his stomach sinks when he realizes there’s nothing but a single, full-sized bed. Which means either Lance has to sleep on the cold hardwood (because he sure as hell isn’t letting _Keith_ , the first-time guest, sleep on the floor), or they have to share the bed.

So naturally, Lance starts to panic. _Oh my God, I can’t do this!_

He takes a deep breath. “I can sleep on the floor, if you want,” he offers, trying not to alert Keith to how anxious he is.

Keith gives him that same funny look from earlier. “We can just share the bed,” he tells Lance slowly. Then he pauses, frowning. “Unless you don’t want to…?”

“I want to!” blurts Lance, immediately kicking himself and his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. He quickly backpedals. “I mean, only if _you_ want to, ahaha…”

With an amused quirk of his lips, Keith shakes his head fondly and rolls his eyes. “Just get in bed, idiot.”

The tips of Lance’s ears warm. Taking a deep breath before he can second-guess himself, he lifts the covers and situates himself on the far end against the wall. The _far, far_ end.

Keith doesn’t seem to think much of Lance’s sudden shyness, and just crawls into bed after him, adjusting under the sheets and turning off the bedside lamp.

They’re quiet for a moment. Lance takes the opportunity to try and calm his racing heart, breathing in through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.

There's a moment of quiet, a comfortable silence that rests easily between them. Two moments. Three.

It occurs to Lance that this would be the perfect moment to reach out -- to stretch his arm across the all-too-generous space between them. To take Keith's hand again, and this time to hold it the way that Lance, deep down, knows he wants to. Fingers intertwined, woven together snugly like two final pieces of an intricately designed puzzle. It would be so _easy,_ because Keith is _right there_.

Lance clenches his hand into a tight fist, and breaks the silence instead.

“Keith?” Lance asks into the darkness, not sure if Keith’s already fallen asleep or not.

“Mm?”

Lance bites his lip, then asks the first thing that comes to mind. “Why did you move to Altea High?”

“Are you trying to tell me you don’t want me there anymore?” Keith asks, but it sounds light. Teasing.

It makes Lance blush anyway. “Wha- -of course not!” he stammers quickly. “It’s just-- you came so _late_ , like you’re a senior and I was -- y’know -- curious as to why.”

Keith chuckles. “Lance, it’s fine,” he says, sounding a bit exasperated. Then his voice softens. “I’ve… I’d been in the system a long time. And Shir-- my foster brother’s parents finally adopted me, so I moved out here.”

“The system?” breathes Lance. “Foster brother?”

“Yeah,” responds Keith, after a slight pause. He sounds… not so much sad as _wistful_. “My mom left when I was really little, so I don’t really remember her very well. And my dad died in an accident at work when I was eleven. I’ve been in foster care ever since.”

Another silence, but this time, it's thick and heavy, like molasses. Or maybe tar. Lance can feel the weight of Keith's admissions deep within in him, stirring an indescribable feeling up in his chest, a phantom sensation crushing his heart.

Vaguely, Lance recalls Keith mentioning a foster brother in passing, once or twice. He isn't sure what to say -- whether there's _anything_ for him to say. He doesn't want Keith to feel like he's pitying him, but then again--

“I’m sorry,” Lance says quietly.

\--he doesn't want Keith to feel alone, either. Like he has to face the demons of his past all alone any longer. Especially when Lance is right there, ready to brave the entire world for this boy with the pretty eyes and outdated haircut. When said-boy has people who care about him as much as Lance does.

They haven't been friends for a long time, the way Lance has been friends with Hunk or Pidge, but already, Lance knows he really cares about Keith. Lance cares about him _so much_.

“Don’t be,” Keith mumbles. “It’s not a big deal.”

And because he has _no impulse control whatsoever_ (at least whenever it involves Keith), Lance is closing the space between them and pulling Keith into a tight hug. Keith makes a surprised noise.

“Yes it is,” says Lance stubbornly fervent. His face is buried in Keith’s hair -- which smells like vanilla, strangely enough -- so it comes out muffled. “You were in _foster care_ , Keith. It’s totally a big deal, so I’m going to hug you over it.”

“It’s really not,” mutters Keith. But then he’s bringing his arms up around Lance, pulling him closer as he returns the hug. “And anyway, I’m technically not an orphan anymore. Like I said, I got adopted. Last year.”

Lance squeezes, then relaxes his hold on Keith. “Good,” he declares, voice thick with emotion. “You deserve it.”

Keith is quiet for a minute, and it’s long enough that Lance wonders if he accidentally fell asleep on him. Just as he’s about to extract himself and move over to his Wall of Isolation, Keith tightens his arms around Lance.

“You’re something else, you know that, Lance?” Keith’s voice sounds strange, and he says it so softly that Lance isn’t completely sure he was supposed to hear.

For whatever reason that he still doesn’t want to think about (maybe he’s tired of fighting; or maybe he’s just _tired_ ), Lance melts into Keith’s embrace and closes his eyes, a smile playing at his lips.

“So are you,” he whispers, stupidly honest.

They lapse back into that comfortable silence for a few minutes, but just as Lance feels sleep start to pull him under, Keith speaks up again, sounding oddly vulnerable.

“Good night, Lance.”

Lance smiles sleepily, nuzzling into Keith as much as he possibly can, while he’s still too tired to overthink things.

“Good night, Keith.”

****

Lance wakes up slowly.

The feeling is almost foreign to him -- he’s used to jolting awake at far-too-early-o’clock from the grating screech of his dreaded morning alarm. But today? Today is different.

Today, the sleep trickles out of his system like honey, his eyelids heavy and his mouth cotton-dry. He becomes aware of his surroundings slowly, his brain lazily registering the room he’s in as Hunk’s Guest Room, a place where he’s woken up hundreds of times before.

What’s new, however, is the extra body in bed with him, which is pleasantly warm and makes Lance long to snuggle closer into it.

Lance blinks, looking down and going slightly cross-eyed. He’s met with a fluffy head of black hair that smells like vanilla, the face to whom it belongs buried in Lance’s neck.

 _Keith_.

Oh. He’s cuddling with Keith.

Lance swallows. _No big deal_ , he thinks, reminiscent of his thoughts from last night's hand-holding stint. Except now, it's more desperate. Frantic. _I’ve cuddled with Hunk plenty times before. Keith is no different_.

But, like when they held hands like last night, it really does feel different. Very different.

For one, Lance has never been the big spoon before. Which shouldn’t be a big deal either, but Keith is still breathing hot air against his neck, and well. Lance can’t help his body’s natural ( _traitorous_ ) reaction to that, can he?

Carefully, not wanting to wake Keith, Lance shifts so that they’re both on their sides, facing each other. They’re still very close, sharing heat with their legs tangled together, but at least Keith’s mouth is no longer pressed against the sensitive skin of Lance’s jugular.

And now, Lance can see Keith’s sleeping face. The sight makes something flutter in his chest -- he looks so peaceful. At ease, and _softer_. Not so rough around the edges. His eyebrows are unpinched and his mouth is relaxed, his lips looking fuller up this close. Unconsciously, Lance finds himself leaning forward, eyes trained on Keith’s lips.

_I wonder what they'd feel like against mine._

_I wonder what it would be like to kiss him_.

Lance’s heart is beating wildly in his chest, and he feels entranced, hypnotized even, by Keith’s mouth. He doesn't realize he's moving closer, closer, closer, until barely, just _barely_ , their lips brush in the lightest of touches…

And then Keith jolts awake, and Lance snaps his gaze up just in time to meet startled, blue-grey eyes, wide with alarm.

“ _Aagh_!”

Pain ripples out from Lance’s bottom as it makes hard contact with the ground. He isn’t sure _who_ screamed -- whether himself, or Keith, or both of them -- but regardless, he is _grateful_ , because it manages to snap Lance out of whatever spell or reverie he had been caught under, causing him to launch his ass out of bed and _away_ from Keith.

Keith, who sits up and gapes at Lance, looks completely flustered from being caught off-guard.

(And Lance wants nothing more than to run himself over with a fucking _truck_ , because this is decidedly _not_ the time to be thinking about something like this, but _Dios_ , does Keith always look this cute in the mornings? Maybe it’s the disheveled bedhead, or the red hot flush gracing his high cheekbones, but either way the sight does nothing but send Lance into yet _another_ panic.)

Lance, who almost _kissed_ Keith. While he was asleep. _Without his consent!_

Lance, who likes girls, not boys. Lance, who is supposed to be _straight_.

 _Fuck_ , Lance thinks, heart racing and palms sweating with what can only be described as pure, unadulterated _terror_.

Keith opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again. Then opens it, then -- _ugh, Lance stop staring at his fucking mouth! FuckfuckFUCK_ \--

Lance clears his throat. “Uh--” He winces when his voice cracks. “Er-- good morning…?”

Keith gives him an incredulous look, and Lance blushes hotly when he realizes his ass is still on the floor, looking up at Keith with wide, horrified eyes.

“...Good morning?” Keith finally croaks back, face burning bright with embarrassment only Lance’s could rival.

There’s a painfully awkward, _awkward_ silence. Lance has never wanted to die more than he wants to right here in this mortifying situation.

Suddenly, a loud _bang_ erupts from downstairs (probably Hunk or one of his moms making breakfast), startling both boys and making Lance scramble to his feet. He looks away as he tries to straighten out his clothes, running his fingers through his hair and struggling to calm his pounding heart. He feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin at any given moment.

Keith clears his throat, and Lance flinches.

“I’m gonna--” Keith falters. “I should go to the -- I’ll go brush my teeth.” There’s rustling around on the bed.

Lance nods, his lips pressed tightly together as he continues avoiding meeting Keith’s eyes. “Y-yep, me too, I’ll just-- I’ll go downstairs!” And then faster than he’s _ever_ moved in gym class, Lance is out the door and fumbling down the stairs, fully intending on making a direct beeline out the front door without a single look back.

He almost trips as he enters the living room, where Romelle is still sleeping, stretched out over Allura on the couch.

Allura, on the other hand, is wide-awake, and looks at Lance in surprise as he staggers through the door.

“What are you doing up so early?” she asks, trying to keep her voice down so as to not wake up Romelle. “Also, what’s wrong with you? You look like a mess. Did something happen?”

“I-uh…” Lance tries to think of a valid excuse to explain why he’s attempting to run out of Hunk’s house, red-faced and still in his pajamas, at the ass-crack of dawn.

“Is that Lance?” Hunk calls from the kitchen over the sound of the sink running. “Why is he up so early?”

Allura raises an eyebrow at Lance. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Sick!” Lance blurts, face going crimson. “Tell Hunk and everyone I’m sick _okaygottagobye_!”

And running out the door he goes.


	2. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Boobs, Lance. Think about boobs. Keith doesn’t have boobs.
> 
> But… he does have a nice chest. Objectively nice. It’s broad, from what Lance can tell. His shirts certainly stretch over it quite attractively. It’s a nice, attractive, boobless chest, and…
> 
> Lance groans and buries his face in his hands. Shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! At first, I was gonna wait until I had more of the final chapter written to post this, but it's officially pride month so I couldn't help myself! I hope you guys enjoy :')
> 
> **CW/TW: there's some very, very minor violence and homophobia this chapter, and the word "f*g" is used briefly as well

Lance is an asshole.

A huge, gaping, fucked-up grade-A _asshole_.

After the infamous Almost-Kiss, Lance actively starts avoiding Keith. He begins getting rides home with Hunk again (who he _knows_ is suspicious, considering the confused but nonetheless disappointed look he gives Lance whenever he asks him to take him home), and even goes to the extent of losing out on an extra half hour of beauty sleep so he can walk his ass to school on the days Hunk has first period unscheduled.

So, in conclusion: he’s _pathetic_.

And that’s not even the worst part. No, the worst part is that Keith still comes to the GSA meetings, and is understandably _pissed_. But any time he tries to make eye contact with Lance, or approach him with the obvious intention to talk, Lance turns with his metaphorical tail between his legs and starts nervously flirting with whatever girl is in the nearest vicinity of him, regardless of whether or not she’s actually interested in guys.

He’s actual, literal _trash_.

One day, two weeks after the Hunk's Guest Room Incident™, Keith nearly catches Lance off-guard. He’s distracted, talking to Shay about potential official dates for the bake sale, when he feels a sharp tap on his shoulder. He turns and is met with stormy blue-grey eyes, and his heart drops like a stone in water.

“Lance,” Keith says piercingly, sounding justifiably angry. “Can we talk?”

Lance gulps, his eyes darting all around the room and debating the pros and cons of just straight booking it to the nearest exit. His eyes land on one of the girls, Nadia, who he’s pretty sure is a lesbian but hey, desperate times, desperate measures.

“I-uh… oh, Nadia!” Lance calls nervously. Nadia looks up at him, confused.

Keith looks like he’s about to punch something. Something like Lance’s face.

Ducking around Keith like the coward he is, Lance stumbles over to Nadia and gives her a grin that he’s afraid is more of a grimace.

“Hey,” he says, a little too loudly. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen your beautiful face around here!”

Nadia looks so confused. “Lance? I was here last week? Also, you know I’m ga—”

“GA-orgeous!” Lance laughs nervously. “You’re gorgeous!” He tries his best to give her a look that says _please just go with it I know you don’t like guys the problem is I’m not supposed to either so just help a brother out_. She narrows her eyes suspiciously, glancing between Lance and Keith. _Oh shit_.

“Ugh!” Keith exclaims, frustrated. “ _Fine_ , don’t talk to me then!” He storms out of the classroom, leaving Lance behind with Nadia to explain what the hell that was like the piece of shit he is.

Keith doesn’t show up to their meeting the next week. Or the week after that.

“Dude,” Hunk says at lunch as he looks over to where Keith is sitting with his back to them, alone. His tone by itself is enough to send Lance spiraling back into gut-churning guilt. “What happened with you and Keith?”

“Yeah,” Pidge adds, crossing her arms and scowling. “He stopped hanging out with us all of a sudden. Why is that, Lance?”

Lance looks down at his feet.

“What are we talking about here?” asks Shay before he can respond, approaching with Allura and Romelle. Lance just wants to crawl under a rock and die already.

“We’re talking about how Lance managed to get Keith to stop talking to him!” replies Pidge angrily. “And _us_!”

Lance flushes with shame.

“That’s right,” says Allura, and although he can’t bring himself to look at her, he knows she’s frowning. “Did something happen? He hasn’t been sitting with us lately. Or coming to the GSA meetings.”

Lance doesn’t say anything. He _can’t_ say anything. Because if he does, it’ll feel too _real_. It'll be… giving up. Giving in. His whole sense of identity will be upended, or like it’s been wrong all along, and that’s a scary thought. Too scary for him to face right now or probably ever.

“He was our friend too,” Romelle murmurs quietly after a minute of Lance being silent.

Shay puts their hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “Lance, you can talk to us.”

And he knows he can. He knows he _should_. But everything’s too fresh, too new, too _raw_ , and he— he just can’t.

He knows he can trust his friends. He _knows_ that, but the thing is…

He doesn’t think he can trust himself. Because he can't like… he can't be...

He swallows hard in a poor attempt to contain himself, but tears still prickle at his eyes. God, he’s _pathetic_.

Hunk, bless his heart, notices how upset Lance is and says, softly (as if Lance is going to fucking _break_ , which… he honestly just might), “Guys, give him a break. He’ll work it out with Keith eventually.”

Pidge scoffs and grumbles something under her breath, but Hunk takes her by the shoulders and massages her into relaxing before she can unleash on Lance.

The others hesitate before finally turning away to their lunches, leaving Lance to agonize over his self-deprecating thoughts in peace.

So, Lance fucked up. That much is obvious. And then, upon fucking up, he promptly fucked _off_ and decided to ruin his fragile friendship with Keith even more than he already had to begin with. First by trying to kiss him in his sleep, and then, secondly, by cutting him off and ghosting the hell out of him. Right after Keith had _finally_ opened up to him, telling him about his parents, and about being an orphan.

Lance presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard enough that he can see stars behind his eyelids.

He is _such_ an asshole.

****

Lance doesn’t realize how much of a vital part Keith had become in his life until he goes almost an entire month without seeing him, and he feels like he’s going positively insane.

Okay, so maybe Lance overreacted. Maybe avoiding Keith was impulsive and overdramatic. He could have, _should_ have, just laughed it off. Should have blamed it on a state of delirium resulting from having just woken up, asked Keith to forget about it, and moved on. It would have been so _easy_. But instead, Lance just _had_ to choose to do things the hard way.

Hindsight, Lance decides, is a bitch.

And now he’s paying for his sheer dumbassery. He’s gone from talking to and spending time with Keith every day to now barely even seeing him in the halls. GSA meetings feel sad and slow without him making his usual sarcastic remarks or playful quips. Throughout every day, Lance will find something hilarious and feel the pressing need to share it with Keith, to see his reactions to the dumb things Lance thinks are funny, only for his heart to sink when he remembers they aren’t talking anymore.

It gets to the point where Lance can’t deny it anymore: he _misses_ Keith. He misses him so fucking much.

He misses the way Keith rolls his eyes whenever Lance says something particularly stupid. He misses how Keith blows at his bangs whenever they fall into his eyes while he’s writing. He misses all of Keith’s laughs — from his low chuckles to his amused snorts to his loud, full-belly laughter, a boisterous hiccuping that never fails to fill Lance with sunshiny warmth.

He misses his smirk, and his piercings, and his _eyes_.

He misses him, and he can’t bring himself to do anything about it.

Because Lance is _straight_. Chicks for life and all that, right? There has never ever been a singular moment in his life where he’s questioned that fact, where he’s wondered, hm, maybe dudes are cool too.

Until Keith.

Keith and his stupid mullet and dumb blue-grey eyes and shitty fingerless gloves. Keith, who invokes feelings in Lance that he’s never felt before, for _anyone_ , let alone a _guy_.

It’s not that Lance is homophobic. Obviously. His older sister is a lesbian, and he’s the co-president of the GSA, for goodness sake. All of his friends are some type of gay. But Lance? Lance never thought himself to have an _ounce_ of gay in him. He likes girls. Girls are nice, and soft, and pretty. And sure, Keith is also nice and kind of soft and definitely pretty but— _ugh, STOP THINKING ABOUT KEITH, LANCE_.

Lance has to slap his cheeks a couple times to re-orient himself.

Boobs, Lance. Think about boobs. Keith doesn’t have boobs.

But… he does have a nice chest. Objectively nice. It’s broad, from what Lance can tell. His shirts certainly stretch over it quite attractively. It’s a nice, attractive, boobless chest, and…

Lance groans and buries his face in his hands. _Shit_.

Okay, so maybe Lance might not be as straight as he initially thought himself to be. Maybe he’s straight in the sense that those plastic rulers are straight — straight, but also kinda bendable.

“You good there, buddy?” asks Hunk, momentarily pulling Lance out of his existential crisis. Lance looks up at his best friend miserably.

They’re sitting in Coran’s classroom, even though it’s not an official GSA meeting; the bake sale is in less than three weeks at this point, and they’re doing the tedious work now (like making price tags and allergy labels) so they don’t have to worry about it later.

“Yeah,” Lance replies, trying and failing to sound casual. Voice cracks are the _worst_. “Why wouldn’t I be good?”

Hunk gives him a Look. “Lance,” he sighs, putting down his Sharpie and turning to face Lance. “You’ve been staring at that label for the past—” he glances at the clock — “ _twelve_ minutes. And you keep sighing. What’s going on, man?”

Lance blushes and looks down, picking at his sleeve anxiously. “Nothing,” he lies, because he is _so_ not talking about this with Hunk right now.

 _"Lance_.”

Okay, so he’s talking about this with Hunk right now.

“I…” He hesitates, then closes his eyes in shame as he forces himself to just _talk_. _Come on, Lance. You can do this._ He inhales deeply before finally saying, “I think I might have feelings for Keith.”

Hunk is silent for a moment, and Lance doesn’t dare look at him. He _can’t_. Weeks of denial come to a boiling point, and to Lance’s horror, his eyes start to water a little the moment he finally admits it — the very thing he’s _terrified_ of — out loud.

A beat of silence. Two.

Three.

“How long?” Hunk asks after four short, agonizing beats of silence.

“Probably awhile,” admits Lance, blinking away those stupid, irrational tears. _Jesus_ , he scolds himself. _Get a grip_. He takes another second to attempt to breathe. “Back at the sleepover… Keith and I ended up sharing a bed, and then when I woke up he was still sleeping and I just, I wanted to kiss him _so bad_ , Hunk. _So_ bad. And — I almost _did_ , but then he woke up and I freaked out and that’s why I’ve been such an asshole to him ever since, because I'm supposed to be— I'm supposed to be _straight_ and now he probably hates me and that's why he stopped coming around to see us.”

It all comes out in a long-winded, cathartic breath, and despite his earlier anxiety, Lance can feel himself lightening up already. His heart is beating out of his chest, palms sweaty, and he still can’t bring himself to look Hunk in the eye, but even so, it feels good to get all that weight off his chest.

“I see…” Hunk says, voice unreadable. “Wow. That makes a lot of sense, actually.”

 _That_ makes Lance look up. Hunk isn’t looking at him though. He’s staring off into space, his expression thoughtful.

“But that’s the thing!” Lance argues, the distress rising up in him again. “It _doesn’t_ make sense. Like, at all. Hunk, I’m _straight_.”

Hunk just shrugs, and it’s slightly infuriating. “Maybe not. Maybe you just haven’t met a guy you were attracted to before Keith.”

“But—”

“Look, Lance,” says Hunk, clearly trying to sound more comforting than exasperated. “I get it. Liking a guy — it’s new for you. And maybe you like girls more, but obviously you’re not as straight as you thought you were. And that’s _okay_ , dude. Listen, how do you know you like Keith?”

Lance swallows. “I don’t know…” But that’s not true. He _does_ know. And from his expression, it’s clear that Hunk knows this, too. “I mean. He’s just, I don’t know. He’s so... pretty? And kind of prickly. Pretty and prickly. Like a nice cactus. He’s not the most social of people, but he’s smart and funny and oh my God, Hunk, have you _seen_ his eyes?”

“Yes, I have,” Hunk says, amused.

Oh boy. There’s no stopping this snowball now. “And! He has a _mullet_ , Hunk, a mullet! But somehow he totally pulls it off and it’s not _fair_ , no one should look that good in a mullet. And it’s like, he’s this totally badass kid who has a mullet and broods and has like twelve piercings and wears black all the time but he also believes in conspiracy theories and _cryptids_ and is a totally _adorable_ nerd once you get to know him. And I don’t get it because he’s not my type at _all_ , shouldn’t even be an option because I don’t like guys, let alone guys like Keith, except apparently _I do_.”

“Lance—”

“And I don’t even know if _he_ likes guys,” Lance continues, his eyes going wide with realization. “He certainly doesn’t like _me_ , that’s for sure, not with the stunt I pulled. I mean, you should have seen his face when he woke up and realized I was trying to kiss him, he looked _horrified_. And I’ve been such a dick, he doesn’t even come to our meetings anymore! He’s like so, _so_ way out of my league. I never stood a chance to begin with, but now? Now he _hates_ me and I hate myself for letting things get—”

“ _Whoa_ , buddy,” Hunk interrupts, gaping at Lance’s tirade. “ _Slow down_. Okay? Breathe. In and out.”

Lance does as he’s told, taking a deep breath in, holding it for a beat, and then exhaling slowly and shakily. He repeats, until he at least doesn't feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest anymore.

“Okay. Better?”

Lance nods mutely.

“Alright!” Hunk claps his hands together, smiling. “Alright, now that you’re calmer, let’s take this one small step at a time.”

Lance takes another breath. “Okay.”

Hunk reaches out, placing a supporting hand on Lance’s shoulder and squeezing comfortingly. It makes Lance feel infinitesimally better.

“Lance, first of all, you’re an amazing guy, and anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

Lance manages to quirk a weak smile. “I am pretty awesome, aren’t I?”

Hunk rolls his eyes, but continues nonetheless. “Secondly, think of it logically. Keith was in the GSA — meaning, there’s a good chance he’s not straight. It’s more likely than not, actually. And besides, even if he isn’t interested, he definitely cares about you. Remember how closed-off and awkward he used to be? But then you started talking to him, and he started breaking out of his shell.  _You_ did that. I’m sure that must mean something to him, even if he’s mad at you right now.”

“But…” Lance's frown returns. “But I _fucked up_ , Hunk. I fucked up real bad. You know I did.”

“So then fix it,” Hunk shrugs, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Lance feels like crying. He tries his hardest not too, but his eyes burn anyway.

“I _can’t_ ,” Lance grits frustratedly. “He won’t even look at me! On the days I take the bus, he’s always looking out the window with his bag on the seat next to him. He tried to talk to me awhile ago but I messed that up too and now it’s like I don’t even exist to him!”

Hunk sighs and wraps his arms around Lance. Lance sniffles, burying his face in Hunk’s shoulder gratefully.

“I think you should try again, Lance,” Hunk says gently, and Lance knows he’s right. “He gave you your space to figure things out, and even though you haven’t done that completely yet, I think you should at least fix your friendship with him. Then you can decide where to go from there.”

Lance nods, just resting in the comfort of Hunk’s embrace as he closes his eyes and tries to stay optimistic.

The universe, for the most part, has been on his side since he first met Keith. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll continue in its streak for Lance.

(Or maybe Lance has already struck out.)

****

Lance has not struck out.

Just before the end of his last period, he receives a text from Hunk.

 **_Hunk-a-lunk (2:36):_ ** _Hey Lance, I know you’re staying after school to finish that one quiz. Do you think you could head to Coran’s real quick afterward and get the stack of labels? I forgot them :(_

Lance huffs at the message, but sends an affirmative text nonetheless.

 ** _Lance (2:38):_** _sure thing my dude i gotchu_

 **_Hunk-a-lunk (2:38):_ ** _ty!!_

After the final bell rings, Lance goes to re-take his physics quiz (which he bombed the first time due to getting exactly two hours of sleep the night prior, but somehow charmed his teacher into letting him re-do). It doesn’t take him very long; turns out, his recall level is in direct proportion to the amount of sleep he’s gotten.

Once he’s finished with the quiz, he checks the time (3:28) and quickly heads over to Coran’s classroom. The door is open, but Coran has fallen asleep at his desk, drooling over what looks like a stack of ungraded tests. Lance tiptoes carefully, being sure not to wake the sleeping teacher as he quietly retrieves the stack of labels he and Hunk had worked on during lunch.

He’s barely out the door when he hears it.

The school is mostly empty by now, being half an hour after last period, but the relatively deserted hallway’s silence is abruptly disrupted when a sudden voice cuts into it harshly: “Hey pretty boy, why don’t you watch your step?”

Even though the person (people?) is out of Lance’s field of vision, he immediately recognizes the voice as notorious school asshole, Richard “Dick” Sendak. Keith’s face appears in Lance’s mind, unbidden, at the words _pretty boy_ , and it makes Lance want to roll his eyes at himself. He shakes the thought off, speeding up his gait. He knows he should probably just walk away, mind his own business, but a part of him is largely intrigued, wondering who might’ve been dumb enough to run into Send-Ass in the first place.

He should have remembered, curiosity killed the cat.

“I _was_ watching my step,” the voice retorts, and Lance’s blood runs cold because he _knows_ that voice. Has dreamed about it whispering into his ear late at night. “Why don’t you stop being a hypocrite?”

Almost automatically, Lance’s legs speed up even faster, his heart racing as he rounds the corner and comes into view of the scene playing out (and quickly hurtling toward disaster) because _holy shit_ , that _is_ Keith.

“You better watch it, pretty boy,” Sendak says in a cold, gravelly voice. “You kiss your boyfriend with that mouth?”

Keith raises an eyebrow, surprisingly confident as he crosses his arms and holds his ground, looking Sendak dead in the eye. “For someone so obviously homophobic, you’ve called me ‘pretty boy’ quite a few times, asshole.”

If it isn’t so terrifying, the absolutely livid expression that crosses Sendak’s face would be _hilarious_.

“I said _watch your mouth_ , you fucking fag,” Sendak sneers, and all the blood rushes to Lance’s head when he steps forward and _shoves_ Keith.

Without properly thinking it through, Lance is barreling forward and doing the first thing that comes to mind: he punches Sendak in the face.

A lot of things happen at once.

For one, there’s the sickening crack of bone hitting bone, and _breaking_. Lance hears it before he feels it, but when he does, he screams.

It makes the whole ordeal a lot less badass than he originally imagined it would be.

“What the _fuck_?” Sendak hisses, reeling from being hit. Then, before Lance can even process it, there’s a fist flying straight at him, slamming into his jaw in retaliation. White hot pain shoots out from the point of contact, making his vision blur and his head spin. He drops to the ground, groaning and grunting as Sendak descends on him like a madman.

“ _Lance_!” Lance hears, and in his pain-delirious mind that most definitely has a crush on Keith, all he can think is, _wow, I’ve missed hearing him say my name_.

Sendak has only gotten in a kick to Lance’s ribs and a punch to the side of his head so hard it feels like his brain is knocking against his own skull, when someone is pulling them apart.

Lance looks up to see a blur of orange, and when his vision comes into focus, he can see a pissed-off Coran restraining a struggling Sendak. He’s saying something, but everything sounds like Lance is listening through a tunnel.

Then, a warm body presses against Lance and helps him to sit up, and Lance looks up directly into concerned, strikingly dark eyes.

“Fuck, Lance, are you okay?” Those piercing eyes dart all over Lance’s face, searching. For what, Lance doesn’t know.

Keith lifts his hand and presses gently against the achingly tender spot on his jaw where Sendak first punched him. Lance winces; now that the adrenaline is waning, the pain is making itself exponentially worse. His hand throbs rhythmically, in tandem with his tender head.

“What were you thinking, dumbass?” Keith asks softly, when Lance doesn’t reply.

 _That you’re worth protecting_ , he wants to say. _That you’re worth fighting for._

Instead, he leans into the warmth of Keith’s hand on his cheek, and closes his eyes.

****

Lance ends up getting three days’ worth of detention.

After being taken straight to the principal by a disappointed Coran, Lance holds an ice-pack against his face and cradles the hand he used to punch Sendak to his chest. Now that he’s calmed down somewhat, the sharp, throbbing pain of his (definitely broken) hand is much more demanding of his attention.

Principal Alfor, thank God, is very amicable and understanding. He’s also Allura’s father, but Lance doubts he’s the type to be partial even to his daughter’s friends. However, because Sendak had pushed Keith first, Lance’s punch counted solely as him defending his friend, allowing him to get in a lot less trouble than he had originally been dreading on the walk to the principal’s office.

Sendak, on the other hand, gets suspended for a week on grounds of harassing and laying hands on Keith. The thought still makes Lance see red.

After his verdict, Lance gets picked up by his mom, and they go to the Minor Injury Clinic, where his hand is, indeed, confirmed broken.

The surprising thing isn’t his broken hand, but rather the fact that his mother is surprisingly complacent toward Lance’s actions.

“So you punched a kid, huh?” she says on the drive home, but it doesn’t sound accusing. In fact, it sounds casual. _Too_ casual.

Lance still feels chagrined either way. “Yes,” he admits quietly. “He pushed my friend.” _And called him a fag_ , he thinks, but doesn’t bother to add aloud.

His mother is quiet for a moment, and Lance takes the opportunity to study his cast — it’s itchy and uncomfortable, but he supposes it could be worse. He has to wear it for three weeks, but hey, at least he had the sense to use his non-dominant hand. And at least he isn’t dead. Because if Coran hadn't heard them, Lance is sure Sendak would have killed him.

Although his face, which has started to swell and bruise, could definitely be better.

“I’m glad you stood up for him,” Lance’s mom says finally, unexpectedly sincere. She grips the steering wheel tightly. “That was very brave of you, _Lancito_. I’m proud of you.”

Lance looks up, surprised. “Really?”

“Really,” his mother smiles, reaching over and squeezing Lance’s shoulder. “The world needs more people who stand up to big bullies like that boy. And while violence is never the answer, I think your broken hand is punishment enough. How about I make garlic knots for you tonight?”

Lance lights up at that, already feeling infinitely better at the promise of his favorite food. “With extra butter?”

“Of course, _mijo_.”

Lance grins (then winces, because _ow_ , his _face_ ). Briefly, he wonders whether Keith likes garlic or not — even if he didn’t, he would like to think that his Mama’s classic garlic knot recipe could easily make him a pro-garlic convert. Maybe one day, he could have him over for dinner and have him try all of Lance’s favorite Cuban—

Oh. Right.

That’s when his stomach sinks, wiping the grin off his face instantaneously because shit, how could he forget? Keith isn’t talking to him, anymore.

Or at least he _wasn’t_. And yeah, that was mostly Lance’s own fault for being stupid, but Lance punched Sendak for him! That has to count for something, right?

Except, does it? Lance still hasn’t had the chance to actually talk to Keith, to explain his actions from the past couple of weeks. So maybe not. He definitely still hasn’t forgiven Lance.

He might never forgive Lance.

“Lance?” his mother asks, concerned. _Curse her maternal sixth-sense_. “Is everything alright?”

“Mama…” He bites his lip, then shakes his head. “Mama, you shouldn’t be proud of me.”

His mom’s eyebrows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I be proud of you?”

He can’t help it — he begins tearing up, his nose tingling with that tell-tale feeling of incoming waterworks. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is the sound of him choking.

His mom immediately veers right, pulling off the road and onto the shoulder. She shuts the car off and turns to face him, her expression slightly panicked at his sudden shift in emotions.

“Lance?” she asks again, more softly this time. “What’s the matter? Talk to me, _cariño_.”

“Mama,” he says shakily, his voice cracking hoarsely. “I… I think I'm bisexual.”

He doesn't give her the chance to process — instead, he keeps talking, and it's like all his emotions are spilling out, his walls cracking and crumbling in a way only possible in front of his mother, leaving him stripped bare and raw and vulnerable.

“Keith, the friend I punched Sendak for… I like him. I _really_ like him, in a more than friendly way… and I know it’s not a big deal, especially since Ronnie’s a lesbian, but for some reason it’s a _huge_ deal because I’ve never felt this way about _anyone_ before, not even a girl, and I’m just so _confused_.”

His voice breaks on the word _confused_ , and with it comes the barrage of tears — frustrated, angry, fearful tears — that he’s been exhaustingly trying to hold back. He’s so, so tired of holding everything back.

“And that’s not even the worst part, Mama. The worst part is that I _messed it all up_ by avoiding him for _weeks_ and now we’re not friends anymore and I don’t know what to do because I know he’s mad at me and he deserves better than a friend who can’t get his act together.”

Unable to look his mother in the eye any longer, Lance covers his face with his hands and presses his palms into his eyes in a sad attempt to push his tears back in. Saying all of this out loud — his insecurities, his recent asshole-ishness, _everything_ — does nothing but highlight the fact that Lance probably fucked up with Keith for good. It took him weeks of denial to realize his feelings, only for it to be too late.

The irony is not lost on him that it wasn’t even Keith who broke his heart; no, _Lance_ broke his _own_ heart. Not exactly the heartbreaker title he imagined he would end up having in high school.

“Lance,” his mother says sternly. The tone in her voice makes him look back up at her tentatively, afraid of what he will find in her expression.

But then there’s a tanned, graceful hand reaching across to find his, firmly squeezing his fingers in her surprisingly strong grasp. Her eyes, in contrast, are gentle; a deep, calming shade of blue that matches his own.

“Why did you punch that boy today?” she asks.

Lance’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion. “I already told you — because he was harassing Keith, and pushed him.”

“No, _mijo_ ,” she says. “ _Why_ did you do it? Why Keith?”

And, well — that’s a good question, actually. Why Keith? Punching someone as big and bad as Sendak isn’t something he would normally do. At least, not for a stranger. He would punch him for Pidge and Hunk and Allura and his other close friends, no doubt, but Keith? Keith, who Lance hasn’t spoken to in so long. Keith, who puts butterflies in his stomach and a feeling in his chest like supernovas trying to escape. Keith, who he desperately misses and wants to have back in his life more than anything.

 _Keith_.

_Why?_

“Because I care about him,” Lance says finally. “I care about him so much, Mama.”

His mother reaches forward with her free hand, cradling Lance’s face as her thumb strokes lightly over his cheekbone. It reminds Lance of the way she would comfort him when he was younger, coming inside with scrapes on his knees and tears in his eyes.

“Then go to him, baby,” she replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “and tell him that.”

“I don’t know if I can,” he mumbles, looking down.

His mother uses her hold on Lance’s face to lift it back up, her expression open and searching.

“What are you afraid of, Lance?”

Lance’s bottom lip trembles as he thinks about that. He’s afraid of a lot of things, that’s for sure. He’s afraid of Keith’s rightful anger, of not knowing what to say or how to say it. But more than anything, he’s afraid of… of…

“What if he rejects me?” he asks, sounding smaller than ever. “What if he doesn’t even want to go back to being friends again.”

His mother looks at him, beautiful and sad. She makes a noise in the back of her throat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, squeezing his hand tight. “If that’s the case, then you move on and learn so you can do better next time. But something tells me that there’s a reason why you like this Keith boy so much. Do you really think he’d do that to you?”

Lance thinks for a moment, before shaking his head resolutely. No. Keith is prickly and standoffish, but he isn’t _mean_.

“No,” Lance says, taking a breath. “No, you’re right. Keith isn’t like that.”

His mother smiles, and it’s radiant. She’s tired, he can tell, but all his life she’s been bright and vibrant, just like the sun. It’s comforting to see her like this now, and he can practically feel his anxiety melting off.

And then she’s pulling him into a hug, stroking his hair as whispering to him in sweet Spanish as he hopelessly tries to keep the waterworks from running all over again.

“ _Te amo, mi niño hermoso_ ,” she murmurs, the words low as they rumble through her chest. “ _Todavía estoy muy orgullosa de ti. Siempre seré._ ”

For the first time since that day he woke up in Keith’s arms and tried to kiss him, Lance feels the tightness in his chest loosen almost completely. He pulls away slightly, sniffling as he looks at his mother wetly.

“I love you too, Mama.”

****

Let it never be said about him that Lance does not listen to his Mama.

He trusts her judgement completely, moreso than his own sometimes. So if Lance’s mom believes he should throw all caution to the wind and go talk to Keith, then damnit if he doesn’t throw all caution to the wind and go talk to Keith.

That’s not to say he isn’t scared to do that, though, because he is. He is absolutely, positively, undoubtedly _terrified_ of how Keith would react. What if he really does hate Lance now? (Not that Lance would blame him, but still.) What if Hunk was _wrong_ and Keith actually doesn’t like guys? Or what if he _does_ , but he just isn’t interested in Lance like that?

By the time lunch rolls around the next day, Lance is a hot walking ball of anxiety. He’s already chewed his nails down to jagged nubs, a disgusting habit he’d thought he’d gotten rid of a long time ago.

“Lance,” Pidge hisses, nudging him with her elbow. “Dude, calm down. I can hear you thinking too loud.”

“Yeah Lance,” Hunk chimes in, clapping a hand on his shoulder supportingly before Lance can turn to glare at Pidge. “It’ll be fine. Just apologize to him for being a dick. I’m sure he’ll forgive you, especially after that stunt you pulled with Sendak.”

Lance frowns, fiddling with his sleeve. “It’s not apologizing that I’m nervous about. It’s everything else.”

“Whatever happens, buddy, you’ll be fine.”

Hunk gives him one of those reassuring smiles of his, somehow managing to get Lance’s heartbeat to calm down some (albeit not much). Pidge punches him in the arm, grinning at him encouragingly.

They stop in front of the cafeteria, and Lance takes a deep breath, bracing himself before barreling forward and pushing the door open.

Despite trying to psych himself up for this the whole way here, every semblance of calm that he’s managed to acquire thus far goes flying out the window the moment he spots that black mullet from across the room. His heart goes back to hammering in his chest, his palms starting to grow moist with sweat.

“Oh God,” he blurts, a bit pitchy. “I can’t do this.”

He starts to turn, fully intending on turning tail and running, when Pidge quickly exclaims, “No you don’t!” and promptly shoves him forward with more force than he would expect from someone of her stature.

He nearly trips, stumbling as he attempts to regain his balance. When he looks up, he’s met with wide blue-grey eyes, and almost goes fumbling all over again.

But then he recalls his mother’s words to him last night, and thinks back to how miserable things have been without Keith in his life. He thinks about how everything they had was gone in an instant, all because Lance’s cowardice.

_What are you afraid of, Lance?_

He breathes in deeply, counts to three, then straightens his spine determinedly. He clutches the straps of his backpack and marches over to Keith before he can spiral any further into backing out.

After getting over his initial shock, Keith’s expression smooths itself into something unreadable, his eyes never leaving Lance as he gets closer and closer to his table.

And then Lance is right in front of him, palms sweating as he lets himself appraise Keith (openly) for the first time.

He’s not wearing his piercings today, and it makes him look softer, more tired. His hair is pulled into this excruciatingly adorable half-ponytail that keeps his bangs out of his face for once, and Lance wants to cry at how beautiful he is even in plain joggers and a sweatshirt a bit too big for him.

God, Lance has missed him _so much_. His chest aches with it.

“Hey,” Lance says finally, dragging his eyes back up to meet Keith’s. His throat is dry, so he swallows nervously. “Can I sit here?”

Silence. Painful, empty silence. It lasts so long that Lance almost starts to turn away, his heart plunging deep into his stomach, but then —

“Sure.”

His voice is uncharacteristically soft. So soft that Lance almost misses it, almost goes to leave anyway, but he somehow catches it anyway. His heart stops plunging.

He takes off his backpack and slides onto the bench next to Keith, resisting the urge to start biting his non-existent nails again.

Another beat of silence, then —

“I’m sorry.”

“Listen, Lance—”

Both boys cut themselves off as they look at each other, and Lance clears his throat with a blush.

Keith bites his lip. “You go first,” he says.

“I just,” Lance starts, picking at his sleeve as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world in order to avoid eye contact, “wanted to say that I’m sorry. For the way I’ve been treating you the last few weeks. I basically ghosted you out of nowhere and I know— I know that was shitty of me. Really shitty. So I’m sorry.”

Keith is quiet for a moment, so Lance takes a deep breath before thinking, _fuck it_ , and continuing to speak.

“And… I just wanted you to know that I— I miss you, dude. A lot. And I get that it’s my fault to begin with, but I was confused, and _scared_ …”

“Scared?” asks Keith, bewildered.

Lance swallows. “Scared because… because of how you made me feel.”

 _How you_ make _me feel_ , he wants to amend, but he _can’t_ , not yet, not right now, not with Keith looking at him with that carefully controlled expression on his face—

“I should hate you,” Keith says finally, and _fuck_ does that hurt (even though it’s exactly what Lance had expected, what he knows he certainly deserves).

Lance opens his mouth to respond, but then Keith starts talking again.

“I should hate you,” he repeats, “but I don’t. I don’t know what _happened_ , Lance. One moment we were fine. We were— friends. But then all of a sudden it was like you hated me and you never tried to explain why.”

“I know. And I’m _sorry_. But like I said, I was just so confused about how I felt about you.”

“And how did I make you feel, Lance?” asks Keith softly, and suddenly the terror is back, gripping Lance from the inside and making his chest seize up.

For a moment, Lance considers lying. He considers telling Keith that he had confused friendship for something more, but that now he knows better. That he doesn’t feel that way anymore. It could be so _easy_ —  but then, he would have to get over Keith, wouldn’t he? Could he do that? Or would he be hurting himself even more than he’s been hurting the past few weeks?

_What are you afraid of, Lance?_

“Like my heart was too big for my chest,” Lance whispers. “Like everything I ever wanted was right there, but I was too scared to try and take it.”

He still can’t bring himself to look at Keith, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on his sleeve. His heart is pounding away furiously, anxiety creeping back up his spine the longer Keith goes without replying.

“Lance, look at me.”

Lance ignores him.

“Lance, _please_.”

“I can’t,” says Lance, voice barely audible. Pathetically, he can already feel tears prickling at the back of his eyes. “Just — get it over with and reject me already.”

He braces himself for the inevitable, for Keith to say that he doesn’t feel the same way, or worse, that Lance is too late, but then a pale hand is shooting forward to cover his, coaxing his fingers out of the death grip on his wrist he hadn’t realized they’d been in.

“Look at me, Lance,” Keith says again, and this time, Lance obeys.

To his surprise, Keith’s gaze is intensely fixed on him, something fiery and ardent burning in his eyes. He doesn’t exactly look angry, but Lance can tell he’s definitely still upset. But there’s something else in his expression, something Lance can’t quite place. It settles low in Lance’s stomach, a nervous warmth that thrums through him stronger and stronger the longer he holds Keith’s heated stare.

“Tell me the truth,” he says, eyes flashing. “Do you have feelings for me?”

 _Yes_ , Lance thinks automatically. _God, yes. Of course I have feelings for you. I have so many feelings for you I don’t know what to do with them. Why wouldn’t I have feelings for you?_

He should say it. After all he’s put the both of them through, he knows Keith deserves to hear it. He _wants_ to say it, but—

“I— I don’t know.”

—but he _can’t_. Not when Keith is looking at him — like that. How can he possibly admit to Keith what he’s just barely started to admit to himself?

 _Tell me the truth_ , Lance’s mind mocks.  _You’re a fucking liar, McClain._

Keith holds eye contact just another second longer, and Lance can see the exact moment when he deflates, when the fire is extinguished from his eyes, leaving them cold and empty.

Keith lets go of his hand, moving back slightly, and Lance’s heart sinks, instantly filled with regret.

 _Idiot_ , he hisses at himself. _You’re a fucking idiot. You fucked up,_ again _, you dumbass._

“Wait!” blurts Lance, because — _dumbass_. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I do. I just. I’m _scared_ Keith. I’ve never— I’m _straight_ , I’ve always been straight. But you just. I don’t know. You make me question that. Because I— I like you. I like you a lot.”

It takes everything in him not to cringe, or break eye contact with Keith again. But he holds it as steady as he can, his mother’s voice still whispering, _What are you afraid of?_ in the back of his mind.

Keith sighs, then looks away.

“I don’t know, Lance,” he says, sounding tired. “I don’t know what you want me to do with that information.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Lance replies earnestly. He hesitates, then says, before he can change his mind, “If you’re willing, I think I want to try it out with you. Well, assuming you like me too. But I get it, if you don’t. If anything, I just hope you can forgive me for the way I’ve been treating you. And let me be your friend again.”

“I… I like you too,” Keith says, and Lance’s heart leaps into his throat, his blood singing and making his fingertips tingle. “But I don’t think— I can’t be someone’s experiment.”

 _You wouldn’t be_. The voice in Lance’s head sounds desperate. _I like you so much, Keith. You would never be an experiment_.

But Lance knows he has no right to try and change Keith’s mind, especially when he isn’t even being totally honest with him. So he bites his tongue, trying his best to soothe the aching in his chest.

 _This is fine_ , he tells himself, but it sounds fake. _You expected worse, remember? Be grateful he even let you talk to him._

“That’s fine,” Lance says, but to his horror, his voice cracks. “I get it. I’ll just— I guess I’ll just go then, sorry for bothering you—”

He starts to get up, grabbing his bag and turning away from Keith in a sad attempt to keep him from seeing his eyes watering, but Keith snatches his wrist before he can get anywhere.

“Wait,” he says, and Lance freezes at the tone of his voice. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to be friends again.”

Slowly, Lance turns back to face him again, and his breath catches when he sees Keith’s face. He looks so _soft_ , and open, and when his lips quirk up in a little half-smirk, Lance sort of wants to cry again, not because he’s still upset, but because Keith is just so — so heartbreakingly _handsome_.

“You did punch Sendak for me,” he says. “Forgiving you is the least I can do in return.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Lance starts, but Keith interrupts him.

“I know. But I want to. I want to be friends with you again.”

And then — oh _God_ , Lance is crying anyway, because he likes Keith so much, and he was so afraid that he wouldn’t give him another chance, but here he is, smiling at Lance and willing to have him back in his life, and Lance is so relieved, and—

“Oh shit,” Keith says, eyes widening. “Wait, I’m sorry, don’t cry—”

“I’m just,” Lance chokes with a sniffle, “so _happy_.”

Keith still looks a little bit freaked out, so Lance wipes away his tears with his sleeve and doesn’t even try to hide how big his smile is.

“Can I hug you?” he asks, because holy shit, Keith is his friend again.

“Yeah.” Keith nods, and holds out his arms.

Lance tries not to be too eager as he all but falls into Keith’s embrace, but it’s hard, because it’s been so long since he’s last touched Keith, and now he’s full-on hugging him. He’s a little overwhelmed, because Keith smells so good, and his hair is so soft, and his arms are strong where they wrap around Lance’s waist.

“Missed you,” Lance mumbles into Keith’s neck. “So much.”

The arms around him tighten. “I missed you too, Lance.”

And that’s all he needs to hear for the universe to right itself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> "Te amo, mi niño hermoso. Todavía estoy muy orgullosa de ti. Siempre seré." = "I love you, my beautiful boy. I'm still very proud of you. I always will be."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to leave kudos and/or comment, as those things fill me with joy as an author and inspire me to continue writing :D


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